


ninety-eight percent

by largoindminor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Heaven, M/M, character death but not in a bad way i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:04:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/largoindminor/pseuds/largoindminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what does heaven look like for sam and dean the second time around?</p>
            </blockquote>





	ninety-eight percent

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this to cheer myself up after re-reading a really sad ficlet that made me cry. just floofy soulmates in heaven. also [here](http://sasquatchandleatherjacket.tumblr.com/post/136727619192/it-was-only-two-before-dean-hears-that-sam%22).

“it was only two, before.” 

dean hears that sam said something, but doesn’t really parse the meaning right away. his head is spinning a little- not in a bad way, like when you’ve had too much to drink, more like that floaty way, like when you step off a roller coaster after a few loop-de-loops. dying will do that to a man. he’s not sure how long they’ve been here, but they keep zooming from place to place, trading off, sometimes sam’s, sometimes dean’s. sometimes they can’t tell.

dean’s eyes are fixed on a small boy, about 6, and an older boy, 10. it’s a rare sunny october day in upstate new york and they found an old rusted scooter out behind a motel dumpster. it’s bent a little, one of the wheels sticks occasionally, but they don’t seem to care. the little one holds on and shouts _weeeee,_ wind blowing back his too long hair. the older one runs close behind, arms out and at the ready like an over protective mom. _is this mine or his?_

“hmm?” dean asks, when the scene before them fades.

“my two memories. before. the last time, i mean. i know you were- that i- i mean. it’s _mostly_ you.”

it’s like sam’s almost nervous, ashamed even, the way he’s stuttering, eyes averted. christ, it’s been thirteen years, has he felt guilty about that all those years? 

“sammy,” dean says, his voice gentle, “i know that you-”

“listen,” sam cuts him off, “no just listen though. because i know you _know,_ like, logically, but i also know you were hurt,” dean scoffs, even here he feels the lingering need to keep up the illusion of his hard exterior, “don’t. don’t brush it off anymore, what- what’s the point in lying anymore?” sam pauses, thoughtful, “can you even do that here? lie?”

“i hate pie and ac/dc sucks,” dean blurts out without thinking, then, “hmm, yeah i guess we can.” 

sam laughs, which is a relief because that was the intended effect. 

“anyway,” sam continues, less somber than before, “it was just those two memories. out of a whole lifetime. you gotta know, your’re- you’re like ninety-eight percet of my happiness right?”

dean looks at the ground and smiles, feels a tiny pang of regret for the way he reacted at the time. sam’s got a point, anyway, heaven is forever and they were here for about forty minutes the first time, surely that’s not enough time to judge.

“and _besides,_ i don’t recall actually being there with you and uh, _rhonda_? was it? although i’m damn glad i got to see it, so.” sam finishes with a shit-eating grin.

dean reaches up and cups the back of sam’s neck, pulls him close and places a soft kiss on his lips, lingers for however long he pleases, what’s time in a place like this anyway?

“why were we so scared of dying all those years, sammy, this is. well. heaven.” not the most original thing to say, but true none the less.

sam traces a knuckle down dean’s cheek, brushes his thumb lightly along the out of dean’s lower lip, “i wasn’t ever. not really. not of _dying_. just didn’t want one of us to do it alone.”

the scenery around them changes, mists and colors and swirly lights. suddenly it’s christmas eve, 2007. there’s two men (boys, really) sitting too close on a couch in front of them, drunk out of their minds and still drinking their bourbon laced eggnog. the taller one looks at the other with tears in his eyes, _please_  he mouths, reaching out. the shorter one meets him halfway, cups topple to the floor, forgotten, as their lips crash together. dean’s surprised to see that the ground didn’t shake, no fireworks went off outside the window, the shorter one’s heart doesn’t burst through his rib cage for lack of space. didn’t all those things happen the first time?

“this mine or yours?” sam asks, as the shorter man pushes the other onto his back.

“does it matter? both, probably.”

the two men fade a little, blur around the edges as they stand from the couch and head just out of view to what they both remember was the bed. the couch is still there, looks every bit as dirty and uncomfortable as it was on christmas eve 2007. the bourbon’s all gone but you don’t need bourbon here. they sit there, rest. this time dean looks at sam, tears in his eyes too but not of grief or fear. just love and appreciation. _please?_  he mouths, and sam meets him halfway. they sit there for ages, millennia maybe, who can tell?

“mmm,” dean hums and smiles into the kiss, “ninety-eight percent’s pretty good. i can live with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry about the capitalization, it was supposed to be a few sentences and i wasn't even gonna put it here but i changed my mind.


End file.
